Surviving
by Jen
Summary: Rentfic. A short glimpse of a future. Written a while back.


This little "

**This little "ficlet" popped into my head and I had to scribble it down. It is surprisingly depressing, considering I've been in a good mood today. Go figure . . . .**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, only borrowing. **

_**Surviving**_

Life made no sense sometimes.  
  
It had been ten years since that Christmas Eve. She had been so close to death it seemed a miracle.  
  
It was a miracle.  
  
Here she was, alive, ten years later. Alive and confused.  
  
It made no sense.  
  
Her lifestyle, her close calls, she should have died years ago. Instead, she seemed to thrive and survive while others didn't.  
  
Collins was the first. Three years after that Christmas. It didn't seem right. Things were going so well, then . . .   
  
The start.  
  
It was hard for everyone, but life went on. Collins and Angel could reunite. New York's light didn't fade on another death.  
  
Sadness.  
  
Maureen was next. Freak accident with equipment at a protest. Roger spent the six months that followed coaxing Mark out of the loft, out of a depression that stemmed from guilt and loss.  
  
A role reversal she'd been told.  
  
She preferred not to think about April.  
  
Joanne departed a month or so later. Not because of death, but grief. She and Mark lived in remembranceville for awhile before she started over, going up North, Boston if she recalled correctly.  
  
Lost touch.  
  
Benny and his wife died in car accident on Fifth Avenue three months later.  
  
Even though Benny had lost touch with the group, his death was still a blow. Between his and Maureen's passings and Joanne's departure, Mark was like a little lost puppy. Roger hugged her tighter, spending more and more time with her. She snuggled with him, enjoying the day, and kept thinking she was next.   
  
Fate was so cruel.  
  
It started with a cough. Just like Collins. It never went away. A cough could be a nail in the coffin with AIDS.   
  
For Roger it was more like a dozen.  
  
She read to him, laughed with him, cuddled with him. She had never had a relationship quite like theirs. She had trouble keeping hold of one. They fought, of course, but after that Christmas Eve, they always learned to find their way back to each other.  
  
It made no sense.  
  
The hospital was so white, so stark. So not Roger.  
  
The bills stacked up. Mark ended up going back to Alexi Darling and a contract to pay them. She waited tables, sometimes working sixteen hours before heading to the hospital to fall asleep in the chair by his bed.  
  
Mark pushed her to the loft.  
  
You need rest, he pleaded.  
  
His own weary eyes spelled out hypocrite.  
  
She'd go, and let him sit in that chair for a few hours. But she never went home. Instead, she'd sit in the chapel, turning toward a god she was always taught was merciful.  
  
She spent a lot of time wondering why.  
  
Why not her.  
  
It snowed at the funeral. She couldn't look at Roger's parents. They had only visited Roger once. She couldn't look at them then either. Instead, Mark talked to them and led her to a chair. He was such a good friend.  
  
All she could remember was that it was Christmas Eve when he died.  
  
And she didn't.  
  
She stayed at the loft. Mark offered; it would help keep cost down. Neither one of them would admit that they wouldn't dare give it up. It was nice to have company. She couldn't be alone.  
  
One day, one month, one year. Time ticked by.  
  
She was still surviving.  
  
Sometimes, she wished she wasn't. Every day, why entered her mind. Where was AIDS to claim her? She had messed up her life as much, probably more, as the next person -- where was death for her?  
  
It wasn't supposed to work out this way.  
  
Life made no sense sometimes.  
  
In the loft, Mark sat on the couch writing in a journal. It seemed to help him. She wished she could find such a tool.   
  
She sat down next to him, and leaned into him. He looked up and smiled. Despite the grin, his eyes looked worn, tired.  
  
For a moment she wondered what it would be like to be embraced again.  
  
Mark went back to writing.  
  
She sighed. In her mind, she wondered what would happen if he left first.  
  
No, not Mark. She would never lose another friend. Another relationship.  
  
She'd go first.  
  
This time she had a feeling.  
  
She relaxed.   
  
She'd go first.  
  
She had to.

**Worth the read? Reviews are very nice :)**


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